


Sex and Candy

by seven (sevenpoints)



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Food Kink, M/M, word kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenpoints/pseuds/seven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh God, this.  Bitter chocolate, laced with the taste that is them, that only their intermingling can produce.  Zach’s tongue twines with his and pulls, drawing Chris forward and down until he is the one on his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex and Candy

Chris wasn’t altogether sure how he’d gotten here.

 

Actually, he wasn’t altogether sure where “here” was.

 

The others had to be around, somewhere.  There was a café, and too much espresso fighting with too much wine and way, way too little sleep.  His eyes were buzzing and he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t actually asleep, here, gazing blankly into the dregs of the empty vessels before him.

 

A trail of smoke sifted past his nostrils, the sharp clove tang shaking him awake, a little, enough to focus on the plume, and follow it to a pair of formidable brows, their shape dark and sharp enough to pierce through the haze that had settled around him.

 

“Past time you were in bed, Christopher.”

 

Yes, Chris had to admit, Zach was right.

 

+++

 

In the cab, one of those funky European cabs, that feels more like a hearse than anything else, Chris could only gaze out the window.  He vaguely remembered arriving in Paris that morning, thinking the city was nothing like the films, was actually a shivering piss-stained warren of crumbling architecture and rotting couture.  Now, though, with the cloak of dark, he could get a sense of the original vision, laced together in sparkling lights.

 

“If I lived here,” Zach said, “I would only come out at night.”

 

Once again, Chris had to agree.

 

+++

 

The hotel was everything you could want of Paris at night, the decayed splendor rendered regal instead of depressing in the glow of soft wall sconces.  Even the groaning of the elevator, really a wrought iron cage on a wire, seemed somehow softened.

 

Upstairs, in his room, Chris could feel the call of the Louis XIV four-poster, with the weird round pillows, so many, too many.

 

“There’s a superfluity of bedding in this room.”

 

Zach, looking up from the little kitchenette, smiled. “A plenitude of pillows.”

 

Chris tries, mostly fails. “An inundation of duvets.”

 

“A quintessence of quilting.”

 

Chris considers trying and just doesn’t.  “And I am so fucking tired.”

 

That brings a low chuckle that seems to carry a fragrance that Chris didn’t realize he was longing for until just then.  Funny, how Zach kept calling to him through trails of scent.  “What are you making?”

 

“Hot chocolate.  You need it.”

 

The buzzing in his skin.  “I don’t need any more sugar.”

 

“No sugar. Well, bittersweet. Come here.”

 

He obeys, sitting carefully in the effete little armchair while Zach plays the servant, serves him hot chocolate on the side table.  He stares at it, thinks briefly of Alice, and just reaches for the rabbit hole.  As he does, Zach is at his knees, easing him out of his shoes.

 

The first sip slides across his tongue in the way that only chocolate can, real bitter chocolate, brewed at night in a Paris hotel.  Chris swallows, and lets his eyes drift shut.

 

“Better?” Zach asks, perched now on the footstool, his own cup and saucer balanced on his knee.  Chris savors the taste, tonguing the roof of his mouth, before he answers.

 

“You are a god.”

 

Zach only smiles.

 

The next sip sends a warmth spreading down to his toes, bare now in the deep pile carpet.  The buzzing melts away, replaced by a very different, deeply rooted tingle.

 

“Zach,” he breathes, “did you fucking roofie me?”

 

Zach’s laughter is bright, his face suddenly leaping into focus.  He takes a sip, then sets both his and Chris’ cups on the table, and pulls the other man down for a kiss.  
  
  
Oh God, this.  Bitter chocolate, laced with the taste that is  _them_ , that only their intermingling can produce.  Zach’s tongue twines with his and  _pulls_ , drawing Chris forward and down until he is the one on his knees, between Zach’s thighs where he perches on the footstool.

 

“Bed,” he bites out between kisses. “The plenitude of pillows.”

 

Zach literally bites at his neck.  “The sacristy of sex.”

 

“ _Fuck_ , yes.”

 

They trace a meandering path through the room, or so it seems to Chris.  Zach is the one who is steering, while Chris is content to be guided, so long as Zach continues to do it with his tongue.  They manage to stumble only briefly in the process of shedding their clothes, and then Chris is falling backward, sinking into the covers.

 

Zach follows, lifting him at the hip and heaving him farther up with a grunt and dipping low for one…last…kiss before reaching for the tin he’d dropped by the side of the bed.  He holds it for a moment, head cocked, examining the possibilities spread out before him, and Chris can only wonder.

 

“You need to hold very, very still, Christopher. Can you do that?”

 

Chris has to lick his lips. “Yes, Zachary, I believe I can manage that for you.”

 

“Good.”  He settles on his knees between Chris’ legs, the tin of cacao he’d grabbed set aside within easy reach.  Chris has time for one breath, and then Zach descends, his tongue laving a trail of fire across his balls and up his shaft.

 

And as fast as the touch comes, it is gone.  Every single one of Chris’ muscles clenches, but he doesn’t move, except to curl his toes.

 

Zach tongues his lower lip, heavy lidded eyes fixed on Chris’ cock and the trail of precome creeping across his hip, and reaches for the cacao.

 

“I take it back,” Chris gasps, “you are Lucifer himself.”

 

That earns him a slow, deeply predatory smile, and then the cacao is falling, dusting across his crotch.  He’s so wound up he can  _feel_ it fall to his skin, mixing with saliva and precome to form a thick, chalky paste.

 

This time, Zach settles comfortably on his belly.  He pauses to press a kiss to Chris’ inner thigh, and then he starts to lick.

 

And oh, God, but this is maddening, the softly gritty chocolate lapped up by the slippery softness of Zach’s tongue.  The paste doesn’t come up so easily, and Zach has to work, a little, tonguing his sac hard to get at the clean skin underneath.  Chris wants to move, would like very much to be thrusting his cock down Zach’s throat, but all he can do is work his muscles rhythmically, desperately.

  
It takes a long time to get his sac clean.

 

“Fuck, Christopher, look at you.”

 

Oh God. “I can’t.”

 

“You shouldn’t.” A pause, and then a flutter of a tongue at the base of his cock. “ _You’re filthy_.”

 

“Zach, good  _Christ!_ ” and Chris is suddenly not so good at holding still. That’s all right, because Zach can always hold him down, and he does.

 

“Look at this mess.”  Another lick, fractionally higher.  “This could take all night.”

 

“ _Zach, Zach, please…._ ”  Chris’ voice has gone weak, breathless, only to erupt into a throaty groan moments later.

 

Lips, lips teeth and a tongue, sucking and scraping the chocolate from his skin and Chris— _can’t_ —look, but ohgod he wants to, and so he does, and the sight sends smears of precome bleeding through Zach’s neat lines.  Chocolate streaks across Zach’s cheek, chocolate mixed with spit and sex, and Zach’s eyes express a hunger that has Chris suddenly, slightly, afraid.

 

“You hypocrite,” he groans, “you’re filthy too.”

 

And that’s when Zach swallows him.

 

He wants this to last, he does, desperately, but it’s just too much, the heat of Zach’s mouth working feverishly over his cock, pumping him, milking him, and Chris can’t help but come, keening desperately like a cheap Parisian whore.

 

+++

 

When he comes down from the stars, Zach is still there, lapping up the last few smears of chocolate on Chris’ belly.  Chris watches for a moment, then reaches for him, wanting to clean the traces from Zach’s face.

 

“Wait, wait,” Zach breathes, and Chris realizes, guiltily, that Zach is still hard, has been hard this entire time.  Standing shakily, he reaches for the last supply he left by the side of the bed.  Uncapping the lube, he slicks himself quickly, hissing at the cold.

 

“In a hurry?” Chris, already sated, can afford to be smug.

 

Zach shakes his head, settling over him quickly.  “Trying not to come too soon.”  He traces a finger over Chris’ hole, about to prep him, but they both realize that Chris is already relaxed, open, waiting, and so Zach just lines up, and thrusts in.

 

“So good.  So fucking good.”  Chris runs his hands over Zach’s arms and back, holds him while he thrusts, thinking that if he hadn’t just come so spectacularly his lover would already have him hard again.  As it is, he’s happy to lie there, taking it, Zach’s boneless fucktoy lazily sucking the cacao from his cheek, lips, tongue.

 

It’s then, when their tongues meet, the melted bittersweet mess of chocolate and sex and  _them_ , that Zach comes, groaning, deep inside Chris’ ass.

 

+++

 

Mutually clumsy now, they grunted, muttering about antediluvian eiderdown as they toss all the extraneous bedding to the floor before crawling, still slightly sticky, beneath the covers.  
  
Zach has brushed his teeth, but Chris is too soundly asleep to bother.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You'd make my day if you commented!


End file.
